Working in Tangles
by AuteurDeLaPaix
Summary: Eren Jaeger has a hard time keeping down a job. Because of this, he's a bit dubious about going to a job interview his sister has set up for him. He's rather unsure about working as a personal assistant to a rather irritable man by the name of Rivaille. Regardless of this, he goes to the interview only to get accepted despite his desire and expectations. (Modern! Working! AU )
1. The Interview

I wasn't actually sure what I was expecting. The job I hadn't exactly anticipated, I had just quit my job as a columnist for an obscure journal when my sister had pitched the idea to me. She had seemed excited, said she had put in a good word for me. She was a lawyer though, so I wasn't exactly sure as to what sort of job she had signed me up for. The people around me were all successful, my dad was a doctor, my adoptive sister was a lawyer, and my best friend was a pilot flying around the world just as he had always wanted to. I, on the other hand, was a man with a mere high school diploma and little going for him. Mikasa, my sister, worked for a law firm in the wealthy Sina district while I had stayed behind in the Rose district to work around a few unpopular newspapers. Despite being a complete idiot with no degree, I got my work done and had several good notes on my résumé. The only downside to that was office fights with a few coworkers—things I didn't like to think about, moreover. It was usually what got me fired; those fights. That, or the people I worked with didn't have their morals straight. I believed in justice and reporting the truth, which was probably why I aspired to be a successful journalist and to work around the world. Then again, at the rate I was going I would make it nowhere. I always just managed to scrape by just barely on rent. My diet at this point was largely of some Chinese carry-out food from the place across the street. I didn't even taste it at this point because I was so used to it, I really only knew it as food. Mikasa always tried to support me, sending money. I never felt comfortable mooching off of her, especially since it was my fault for my current situation, but she helped anyways. Against my dad's arguments, actually.

I sigh and think about my current situation. My typing speed was sixty words per minute and I had a good vocabulary and learned quickly despite the fact I was a complete idiot, as I can recall many of my teachers saying in school. The job Mikasa had recommended wasn't exactly what I was used to. Yeah, I was working in a newspaper again, the difference this time being in the Sina district. If I got the job, it would pay well. But the job she had set me up for was irritating to say the least: personal assistant. I had never played Mr. Personal Assistant and I certainly didn't want to. Catering to people's needs wasn't my thing. But she had literally begged on the phone that I take the job—begged with a monotone voice, moreover, because that was just her style.

I had succumbed, as she knew I would and as I knew I would because I always had a hard time rejecting her proposals. I didn't know what it was about her, even if she seemed like a cold person; it was rather easy to agree to her demands. It was probably why she was such a respected lawyer. Either way, I was there in front of the building. It was cool; the chill of Fall was starting to roll in; the cold fingers from the rain last night also didn't help warm the temperature. I had always preferred the cold, anyways, the heat always made me feel uncomfortable. At least you could warm yourself up; it's harder to cool yourself down. But of course I needed to focus on my surroundings instead of my silly preferences. The surrounding buildings were tall, nothing unexpected of Sina; I'd say thirty stories but I wasn't exactly sure. They were rather flashy; the building I was supposed to enter for the appointment had a fountain in front of it adorned with beautifully carved angels. I refused to believe that this was a building just for a well-known journal, it seemed far more important than that. The people that walked in wore casual clothing, though, like that of a person who needed to be comfortable in checking things over. There would only be someone walking in with a suit on occasion. I suddenly felt like an idiot because I had wrestled with a tie this morning to make myself half-presentable. I figured I would probably be the only idiot wearing a suit. It was an interview, after all, so I could only hope my attire was proper. If it was up to me, I would have left and never looked back. But I was doing this for Mikasa, even if this was a stupid interview for being a personal assistant.

With a new found courage—or something like it—I entered and looked around in the sort of way you do when thrown with something new in front of you. It certainly didn't look like a simple, local headquarters of a popular journal. It looked like... I wasn't sure what it looked like. The building was far too flashy for something like a newspaper. Yes, you could see people rushing in and out of rooms holding papers and looking concerned, but it just seemed like so much more. I sighed and muttered something under my breath. Now I really wanted to leave. This wasn't like any of the papers I had worked for in Rose; it was obviously another league entirely—a league I didn't deserve to be in nor had worked my way towards. There were columns and a separate room that seemed to lead to elevators. I knew I needed to find the information desk, which was obviously in front of me. But I, being fascinated, walked tentatively around what seemed to be the main lounge. Soon realizing how foolish I was being, I hurriedly went to the main desk. I had stopped before a woman with black hair and two, low-lying pigtails. She certainly seemed the nicest out of the line-up, especially nicer looking than the hawk-eyed blonde beside her.

She smiles at me, she's cute, I realize as I look at her. Of course, I don't say anything because I'm not there to gawk at pretty women who work at informational desks. "What do you need help with?" she props her elbows up on the counter and looks at me expectantly with a bright smile. I read her name tag carefully: Mina Carolina.

The man I was supposed to be a personal assistant to was named Rivaille. There hadn't been a last name, to my curiosity and dismay. He was like one of those celebrities who only put their first name and not their last name. A rather odd practice, now that I thought about it. But that didn't exactly matter, like a lot of my thoughts today. It was weird, because I didn't even know what kind of guy I would be working for if I did get accepted. If I got accepted, moreover, because I was fairly sure there were more qualified people pining for the job. Mikasa's word could only go so far, she knew that and I knew that. Plus, I would be embarrassed if I got this job only because she had said a few things to a few people. It was fairly degrading to think she was providing for me again like she had always done, even when we were kids. "U-uh right," I stumbled over my words a bit, only to get a glare from the blonde beside Mina. "I'm looking for Rivaille's office. What floor would that be on?"

She looks slightly alarmed; someone with as sweet a face as hers looks alarmed so I can't help but be alarmed myself. She widens her dark eyes at me and looks genuinely confused, her brows knit together to only make the look more dramatic. "Are you applying for personal assistant?"

Mina was actually asking what my business was. The fact that it was my business and not hers stuck in my mind and I knew I didn't have to tell her squat because she had no right to know. But she looked genuinely concerned so I sigh and study her features carefully. "Mmm," I say. It wasn't really a word, just a small sound that only confirmed her question. I nod my head a little bit, just in case she didn't understand the meaning behind the sound.

Her features soon broke out into a polite smile, as if masking the fear for me she had held in her eyes. My own gaze narrows because I knew she was covering something up. I could tell a liar, it was my specialty, I had been told. "His office is on the thirty-fifth floor," she replies, as if ignoring my curious glare.

I nod in thanks before going to the room where I had seen all the elevators. I hit the key that indicates upwards. The elevator ride itself was strange for me. The music was annoying and the progress was slow, people were constantly getting on and off. It was when I started to scale the thirty-fifth floor that nobody came on; I was completely alone this time despite the fact that there had always been someone on with me on the floors below. Once the doors opened, I exited only to see a handful of cubicles and then two big office doors. The people working ignored me as if I were nothing of importance. Then again, their work was probably more important than some disheveled man who had a naturally angry face.

A breath was sucked in before I went towards the office door and knocked on it. I had the envelope with my résumé in hand though I was pretty sure Mikasa had faxed it over to him. She had always insisted on having a copy of my résumé. I think I waited a good five minutes before I was told I could come in. In fact, I planned on leaving when he had finally beckoned me in. He hadn't opened the door for me, I had to open it myself and enter. I had always assumed—or was used to—the person opening their office door for me. When I entered, I was struck by how simple the office was in comparison to the rest of the building. It had plush, red carpeting and an oak desk at the back of it. There were wall cabinets, all neatly ordered A-Z and rather low-lying. The height of it was a strange thing to notice but it seemed like something even a child would be able to reach. As I stand there looking, a throat is cleared and I direct my attention completely to the desk. 'Rivaille' is spelled neatly in gold lettering on the plate of his desk.

He then motions for me to sit rather impatiently. I do so, of course, but know that I don't like the air surrounding this guy. It was cold, strict, and something that reminded me of a hated teacher when I was younger. I had a feeling that if I was employed, I would most certainly be yelled at and scolded and I would feel like a kid again. Was it forward thinking on my part? I wasn't sure but I did feel awkward. He then rose to his feet and glared at me sternly. I swallow thickly because I can't even fathom as to what I did wrong in my first five minutes of entering his damn office. I then realize I have to shake his hand, so I stand up as well and extend my own. "Eren Jaeger," I say, studying him carefully. Rivaille was short; shorter than any man I had ever seen in my life. He had a rather annoyed face, the sort of face a man had whenever dealing with idiots. It almost felt like he thought of me as an idiot. He could have been, if he didn't have the expression he had now, handsome. His eyes were narrowed and his lashes dark, his hair was parted perfectly in the middle and shaved at the bottom. It was swept away from his eyes yet seemed to hang before it just so. He had a pale complexion, like a man who spent his entire day before a computer and inside; which was probably true considering his line of work. And he looked at me, with those gray and disdainful eyes.

Rivaille then gazed at my hand with the same look of disdain and reluctantly shakes it with his own, which was surprisingly cold and smooth. He then eyes my scuffed up shoes and my crooked tie as if I was a piece of work—not necessarily the good kind. I look at him as he glares at these things because I was in a rush and I couldn't help it. The trains for Sina were later than the interview and I had found myself waking up early just to catch one. I had skipped breakfast, which wasn't abnormal, and booked it here all for this stupid meeting. Even as I think these things and dare him to say something, he doesn't. Rivaille just purses his lips and sits down. I also take a seat. The office was ridiculously clean and even as he just wore a plain, gray sweater and some slacks, it still felt like he was dressed formally because of the air surrounding him.

"Résumé," he says simply in a gruff voice I hadn't expected of a man that short. I nod and slide it to him, deciding to be light on my feet to avoid any unnecessary fighting. I was sure he had seen it, because Mikasa had faxed it to him. I could only assume he needed a refresher because he had gotten so many applications for the job. I didn't want to be his personal assistant; I already saw the job being ridiculously tough and hard on my schedule. He hadn't made the best first impression on me and I figured that the same went for him. He continues to flip through it before eyeing me carefully and speaking again. "You only have a high school diploma," he pointed out.

I nod because I knew this would be the first and most obvious question. "Yes," I reply, keeping my answer curt.

"You have a lot of fight records. You in a gang?" he doesn't speak formally despite his position as one of the main editors to the paper. In fact, the way he speaks is loose and completely informal, I don't reply in such a way because I knew I needed to keep myself together and proper. However proper I could be, anyways.

"No, most are with co-workers..." I trail off because I don't know what to add to make myself look good. I did have fights in school, but I tried not to think about school so much.

Rivaille nods as if this makes sense. "Why's that?"

Mild shock courses through me as he asks. I didn't think he would care. Besides, the reasons were stupid. "I... well; I've been in a lot of fights so I can't remember all of the reasons."

It seemed like a good save.

"Name the reasons that are the most memorable then," he rests his cheek in his hand and watches me carefully. His eyes flicker as if he expects me to say something amusing; eyes ready to laugh.

I frown deeply. "One was flirting shamelessly with another co-worker, she was uncomfortable. I told him to stop, he didn't, and things got messy. Plus, in my other jobs, many didn't have their morals straight," my voice is tight and restrained. I really hate people. Really hate them.

He chuckles slightly, as if finding that the funniest thing in the world despite the vagueness of his laugh. "The world is full of corruption, Jaeger; you're really worried about upholding morals?"

I nod, averting my gaze from hot embarrassment. "Yeah, well, whatever."

"Jaeger, you are..." he trails off a bit as he pulls up my résumé again, reading my age."Twenty-five years old and you're still mumbling 'whatever' like a kid," he puts the paper down and eyes me in that way of his I'd come to hate in our short time together.

"I do," I reply firmly as I gaze into his eyes. I knew I was failing the interview but the truth was I couldn't stand Rivaille at all. His personality didn't appeal to me. Not only would this job involve working with him, it would involve working under him and catering to his needs. I would never want that to happen. My gaze shifts to the digital clock on his desk as I try and find the time. It was 10:43; the meeting had started at 10:00 sharp. I found it hard to believe this little conversation had taken forty-three minutes of my time. I really didn't want the job for obvious reasons.

Rivaille grunts in response and looks at the clock, also, no doubt he had other interviews. "You're free to go," he says calmly and I get up a little faster than I should of.

"Thank you for seeing me," I grab my résumé and leave before shaking his hand and looking at him properly. I really just wanted to leave. I took the stairs instead of the elevator in a quick flurry, almost tripping a few times. No way would I be working in Sina. It just wasn't happening. I knew I could never make the job and I was fairly sure Mikasa knew and was just trying to be nice to me. I sigh at the thought, I really was useless and had little going for me. I felt worse than I should have when I left his office and entered the bustling sidewalk outside of the building. I hadn't even bothered to check the name of the paper I was supposed to be working for, I realized. But I didn't exactly care because as I kept telling myself, there was no way in Hell I was going back to actually work there.

"You got the job!" Mikasa said excitedly as she had phoned me hours after I had gotten home. I hadn't expected the reply to be so quick, truthfully, and I found it ridiculously strange.

"You're fucking kidding me," I grumbled, reclining the phone in the crook of my neck and shoulder; pressing it against my ear. I refused to believe this, especially with my attitude and the way we had spent most of the time glaring at each other. He more than I, anyways.

Her voice is still monotone as I am used to it, but it conveyed hints of excitement; hope. I sigh a bit because I really didn't want the job and it was a damn shame I was accepted. "I'm not," she said with a smile, or at least, I tried to place her with one as she spoke. It didn't quite fit. "He called me today saying that you got the job and that you start tomorrow morning at five."

"In the morning?"

"What else?" she asks with annoyance.

My gaze flickers to the cracked wall clock that hangs in the living room with a dull clicking. I suddenly remember how the thing had always kept me awake when I first got it, but now it did not such thing for I had found it to be comforting in its own odd way. "Ah, alright..." I let out another sigh and nod slowly as if she could see it across the line. "I'll start tomorrow then. Bye, I love you."

"I love you," she says, her voice gradually warmer. It always warmed up whenever she told me she loved me. She was a very important person in my life; she was a trusted confidant and a beloved sister. Even if I tried to be more independent, I knew deep down that I really needed her by my side. The good news was that she knew it and that I didn't have to tell her it. I was the sort of person who never felt comfortable talking about their feelings. "Bye, Eren."

With that, the vague crackling of the line is cut and a dull ringing is soon heard in replacement. I drop my phone in disbelief. This was not happening.

**A/N: **I do plan on making more chapters of this. How many more chapters is planned on the reception to this story and my muse for it. I have a lot of ideas for it and actually look forward to writing it. This story is meant to be EreRi, yes, but the process is going to be a bit gradual because I do want things to ease in slowly when it comes to this relationship.


	2. A Quick Memory

I remember the night clearly when she had pitched the job to me. It had been a bad day; I had gotten into a fist fight with some sleazy co-worker of mine. By the time my boss had finished drilling me on the etiquette of the working environment, it had started raining. Like the depressing cliché, as I made my way through Rose to my apartment, a car had driven by and splattered me in mud and water. I remember yelling profanity briefly at the car because I was just that sort of person and my bad day was getting to me. The walk had seemed longer than it actually was, the streets had been lit with warm lighting and people were rushing to seek refuge in establishments. My stomach grumbled as I peered through the windows at the restaurants. The thing was I actually couldn't afford it so there was really no use in trying. I then thought back to how whenever Mikasa came she always insisted on taking me out to dinner. I always told her not to, simply because the thought of my situation and the harshness of it was an embarrassing notion in itself. I didn't mind letting my mind wander as I made my way down, turning a few corners here and there. I was most likely going to get a cold, I knew, and that if I didn't get it tomorrow I'd get it the day after. Then job-hunting would probably be delayed as I tried to get back on my feet.

Even as I arrived at my apartment and unlocked the door, I realized that I honestly wouldn't mind a sick day. It would give me time to think for myself and even if I did have a stuffy nose and I headache, I could still look through newspapers and see what positions were open. I was honestly surprised I hadn't run out of places to hire me. Then again, there were quite a few obscure journals in Rose. Most of the information there was mundane or hush-hush-you-don't-tell-anyone-and-we-leave-secre t-messages-as-we-publish sort of things. I, personally, had never gotten involved in the underground things that went about the three main districts. The columns I wrote never involved any underlying messages to some hit man or lone shark or whatever the underground crime handled. I was fine with that, truthfully. I may have been short on cash and struggling day-to-day, but I certainly wouldn't be caught doing crime. My morals were too high for that, I knew, and it was probably one of the main reasons Mikasa let me live in Rose.

The thing is Rose isn't bad. Everyone knew Maria was a bit more dangerous but Rose was somewhere in the middle. Even as I entered my apartment then and it was messy and full of dirty clothes on the floor, it was safe. It was safe and I always found a way to pay rent and I loved it. A nice girl named Christa lived next door with her girlfriend Ymir and Christa would bring me cakes or something on occasion. Ymir was a bit of a trickster but overall I liked the apartment complex. So as I entered and fell to the floor, I was happy because I always felt safe in my apartment and took refuge in it. Even if it smelled bad and was sort of dirty. It was still my haven. My happy little haven.

But I was feeling a bit down that night. I had lost another job. Finding jobs wasn't the problem; it was keeping them that was always a pain. As I laid on the floor, drenched and covered in mud, I felt terrible about myself. I don't always feel terrible about myself, but I really did that night. It was then that everything I had tried to accomplish and failed at came crashing down on me. My relationship with my dad was horrible, my mom was dead, and I was struggling for independence and failing miserably. I was twenty-five years old. Twenty-five, and not doing as well in life as I would have hoped. I eventually felt better at the thought of being able to find another job easily. With the resolution of finding another job tomorrow and keeping it for at least a week, I went to shower.

When Mikasa called, I had just finished eating a rather odd dinner. It was really just some Lucky Charms without milk; I had forgotten to go shopping and was left with little to nothing to eat. The strangest part was I still insisted on putting them in a cracked bowl and eating them with a spoon. At that point, I was fairly sure I was catching a fever or something. I then, unceremoniously, slept on the floor as I was used to. I was always too lazy to go to my bed or was usually up late reading something; travel journals, most of the time.

It was sometime after the wall phone rang—or at least—I assumed it to be sometime later than when I had fallen asleep in a rather disgraceful manner. Groggy and just barely clinging to consciousness, I stumbled to the kitchen in a sort of stupor that was pathetic, to say the least. I then outstretched my hand towards the phone, pulling it by the cord and sending it flying to the sink. I had sworn loudly, possibly in German or some odd mix of German-English that always seemed to slip my lips whenever I was at my worst. I then scrambled to grab the phone quickly, loud banging noises following afterwards. "Sorry about that," I had tried to say casually, already knowing the caller to be Mikasa because she always insisted on calling me every night. "What's up?" I ask with a grin before adding, "I lost my job—"

"I figured as much," she cut in coldly.

I flinched a bit because the way she had said it sent chills through me. That woman terrified me; she was ridiculously protective and always demanded to know what was going on with me. I loved her but I knew that even she needed to calm down, step back, and give me room to breathe.

"Yeah well," I cleared my throat and ran a hand through my hair. "Why'd you call?" I asked at last. She called almost every night but this time it felt so much more important. Mikasa's voice was naturally monotone, but after knowing her for so long, I knew how to pick out slivers of emotions within it. Her voice was serious right now, yet seemed to have an undertone of excitement that had sent me into a spin of confusion.

"I set up a job interview for you—"

"Mikasa, what the hell?!" I cut in this time, indignantly, too. She was always doing things for me, even when I insisted she shouldn't. I knew it was just me being stubborn but I was an adult and needed to find my own footing without her help. She was a successful lawyer and I knew she had more important things than helping me out.

"Listen, Eren," she had replied firmly. "I have connections to the boss of a popular journal in Sina. There was a position open and I submitted your résumé. You're approved despite the fact you only have a high school diploma!" she puts emphasis on the last part as if telling me to hush up and listen.

"Go on," I had sighed as I leaned against the counter, twirling the phone cord around my finger idly. I had a cellphone, but I kept it business-only out of fear Mikasa would send me excessive texts of worry whenever she had the chance.

"There's also the matter of your frequent fights on your work and school record. I really have no idea as to how you're not arrested for assault," she added bluntly.

Ouch, she was cutting deep this time around.

"What position did you sign me up for?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level though irritation loomed before me. It was like that of an ugly visitor, a visitor I knew all too well.

Mikasa had stayed silent for a few moments; I could only hear the vague crackle of the line.

"Well?" I repeated myself, something horrible weighing in the pit of my stomach. Yes, Mikasa was quiet, but not in the sort of way that meant someone was lost for words. "Go on," I urge her though I can feel cold sweat begin to run down my back.

"Personal assistant..." she had murmured so quietly I had to strain to hear.

"Okay, Mikasa!" I snapped. She knew I wasn't the sort of person to take a job like that. "You sign me up for a job without my consent, but as a fucking personal assistant?!"

"Eren, listen, please," she begged in that flat voice of hers. "If you do well as personal assistant, I'm sure they'd be willing to do a transfer as a columnist."

I remained silent. That didn't sound too bad, but it also depended on how long I'd be one. "Who am I working for?" I remember asking with a deep sigh of exasperation. Mikasa was really trying, I knew, and that I needed to do this for her, if anything. The pros of this job outweighed the cons and I knew I'd be an even bigger idiot for not trying to show up to the interview.

"A man named Rivaille," she answered, her voice lightening considerably.

"What's he like?" I fumed, tapping my foot in impatience.

"I'm not sure... but I'm sure he's nice enough. Just promise you'll show up," she pleaded once again. I could envision her brown eyes widening as she said that, even if her voice was still as level as always.

"What time?" I puffed out my cheeks like a pouting child. I had succumbed. I always succumbed.

"10:00 sharp. Not a minute less. He's very punctual," she added with a tone of seriousness.

I nodded slowly and sighed. "Fine, I'll be there. Bye, I love you."

"I love you, Eren," she said brightly before hanging up.

These events then replayed through my mind as I stood outside of the building to my new workplace. It was cold once again, even colder than before. I had also caught a cold, which was fairly annoying, as well. I had shown up at five in the morning as requested of me. I shivered a bit and slowly walked up the steps. I needed to remember that night, I knew, because I also needed to remember what it was that had gotten me here in the first place. Mikasa had told me the doors would be open for me and that if they weren't I could buzz Rivaille down or something. I really didn't want to be asking that guy for any favors even if it was as simple as door opening.

To my delight, the doors were unlocked and I entered the warm building that I needed to call my work place. I looked around a bit. It strangely felt more comfortable in the early morning than from when I had come for the interview. The lights were dim and warm, a soft light good on the eyes for when the mornings were dark and not quite ready to be illuminated so brightly. Even if it was five in the morning, Sina was still fairly active and the lights were just as pretty in the rush of activity. I honestly felt like a tourist because I had looked at everything with such wonder. I then go to the elevator room and hit the arrow key that points upwards. I had skipped breakfast again just to be here. The worst part of this for me, even if things were nice, was that I was coming down with a cold and had run out of medicine in my apartment. It was hard to work when your head felt like it was stuffed with tissues.

As I stepped onto the elevator and ascended the floors in a smooth ride, I honestly prayed that Rivaille didn't mind.

**A/N:** I'm sorry that this chapter is so boring. I wanted to write out the phone call between Eren and Mikasa that would lead him to the job since it's the whole reason all this is starting. I honestly wanted to cram in some EreRi in here but realized it would be best if I saved it for another chapter. The funny this is, this is an EreRi fanfiction yet Rivaille isn't even in this chapter. The next chapter will be centered on the relationship a bit more unlike this one and the one before it. So please just bear with me until chapter three comes out. Also, thank you to everyone who reviewed because they were extremely helpful and appreciated!


	3. First Morning

He looked angry, and by angry, I mean that he could make even Medusa turn to stone. I had just gotten off the elevator when I had seen him. Rivaille had placed papers into someone's cubicle before turning to me and looking so furious it was dizzying. I sniffed loudly in the silence despite myself, my nose still as congested yet runny as ever because of my cold.

"You're sick," he says bluntly as his gray eyes rake over my frame.

I nod slowly, "Just a bit... A-ah," I cough and clear my throat, sounding sicker than I intended. It was really just supposed to be throat-clearing, but with the cough that was snuck in, it sounded like I had a really bad cold. "So, you were supposed to tell me about the work place and all, since I'm going to be your personal assistant..." I state the obvious as if he forgot. Knowing him for the brief time I did, to me it seemed like he was the sort of person who wouldn't forget about something like that.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as if I have just done something unbelievably stupid and that he was losing patience with me. I blush a bit, partly because of my cold and partly because of the fact that I was embarrassed about messing something up I didn't even know about. Rivaille then walks over silently to a cubicle closest to his office and puts his hands on the chair, eyeing me dully yet with annoyance in a way that just can't be described. He then, lifting a pale hand, pats the chair as if beckoning me over as if I was some sort of dog. I go anyways because I know for a fact that I don't have a choice but to.

His eyes flicker in approval as if he just managed to train something. I'm not exactly sure as to what part of him made me think like that but it was pretty obvious to me. "This is your cubicle," he says finally before taking his hands away from the seat. "It's closest to my office as you have probably already noticed. You're at my disposal so I need you in my office as quickly as possible."

I cringe as he says 'disposal' because the thought of me being something to dispose of irks me.

"Now moving along, take your coat and scarf off and meet me in my office. Also, there's a phone on your desk. Your job is to work my schedule and to get me things when I need them. I'm going to be calling you whenever I need something," he nods slightly to himself in a cold and swift motion like that of a disciplinarian. I let out a sigh despite myself simply because this was all too much. He hadn't even insulted me but I honestly felt like he had in the cruelest way possible; degraded me when he hadn't touched me. Once he had finished his words of what my job was about, he turned and left to his office, leaving me to my cubicle.

I look around it a bit, there's nothing there and I hadn't brought anything to decorate it. There was just a computer, a phone, and the chair itself. I knew that sooner or later in the week it would probably become full of papers and that would be the end of the simple cleanliness. I always made things messy in my first week, my organization skills weren't exactly the best and I usually misplaced a paper or two even if I didn't mean to. With that thought in mind, I hang my coat on my chair and put my scarf on it as well. I then, turn my gaze to look around the room completely. I didn't bother to count the cubicles but there seemed to be a decent amount. The window seemed to scale all about the room giving me a great view of Sina in the dark morning. I could see the lights of nearby buildings slicing through the darkness and also noted some people entering buildings despite how early it was. The elevator was oriented to the front of the room so anyone who came would be seen immediately.

After taking a brief survey of the area, I enter Rivaille's office without knocking this time. If he complained about it, then that was on him because he was the one who had told me to come to his office. Once I enter, I see him looking through the wall cabinets and placing a file in the 'J' section. It was most likely my file, now that I thought about it. While he's filing it, I take a more detailed account of his office. I had been so nervous about the job I had missed several points of it. There was a small fridge in the corner as well as a coffee machine. I figured that he probably ate in his office whenever he was on break, rarely associating with his co-workers. He did seem like the kind of guy who tried to stay away from people, I realized as I allowed my gaze to flicker to him once more. He's still organizing the files, giving me a bit more time to look around. Then there's his desk, in the back and in front of a window with an even more spectacular view of Sina. I don't see much on his desk, no pictures of a cute girlfriend or dog or of kids. All I see is the tag with the golden letters of his name. Everything seems to be in order on his desk, the pens and papers placed perfectly and carefully in meticulous alignment. This leads me to believe he has some form of OCD. I then turn my attention to other aspects of the room, noticing a closet off to the side. I could hardly fathom why he would have a closet but he does, even if it makes little sense to me.

I'm then lightly smacked on the back of the head as I'm thinking. My eyes widen and I probably jump three feet off of the ground in surprise. I turn around and see the gray eyes of Rivaille looking at me sternly. He then hands me a cup of coffee and I accept it, confused because I was fairly sure I hadn't seen him making coffee. But as I look at the coffee maker again, it's on and operating and the scent has wafted into every nook and cranny of the room. "Thanks," I say quickly, allowing my fingers to wrap around the circumference of the mug. It was warm and pleasant and especially welcome since I had skipped breakfast, after all.

"Don't mention it," his reply was curt and flat as ever. He then takes a sip of his coffee and studies me carefully. He had been doing it often. I figured it was just because he wanted to know what sort of fool his personal assistant was going to be. "Hey, Jaeger," he begins, allowing his eyes to move from my body to my own gaze.

"Yes?" I sip the coffee myself. It's good, right in the middle of sweetness yet bitterness. It was funny, I had always preferred my coffee to be balanced and he had managed to give me something I could enjoy. I take another small gulp because it was just that good.

"I never asked you," he reclines against his desk. "Why you took the job."

"My sister recommended it to me and set everything up. She suggested I go so I did," I kept my answer short because I figured Rivaille was one of those men whose questions only had one answer to. There was only a right, there could be no wrong.

He nods slowly and puts his coffee on the table; he then beckons me over with a pale wave of his hand. I go, of course, because I was basically his dog at this point. I never liked the position as personal assistant because I felt like it was one of those jobs where you were collared and always had to obey. "I see. Do you actually want this job or are you just doing it for her?" he asks it suddenly, so suddenly I barely even have time to react.

"It's..." I struggle to answer, the headache from my cold suddenly pounding. "It's different than from what I'm used to. Most of the jobs I take are as a columnist so being a personal assistant is new to me. I... I just have to see how this job goes to determine if I want it or not," I finish nervously as he watches me with the eyes of a hawk.

"Smart answer," he says gruffly as if he was expecting me to fail some imaginary test. "Moving on," he adds, changing the topic completely. "Today's agenda is for you to stay by my side for the rest of the day. You won't be in your cubicle that much."

Rivaille is pacing around the room with his arms behind his back. He does it in a sort of lazy manner, though, the strides extended and relaxed despite his harsh tone. I wasn't sure what sort of message he was trying to send me. Then again, I could hardly fathom why I would work under a man like him. Communication seemed to be strained considering the fact I could never actually pick out what it was he wanted. At this point, I was just praying I'd pick up a few tricks to use along the way. "Alright..." I nod slowly to show I understand so far.

"We'll be running a few errands. Nothing major, I just need to pick a few things up and talk to a few people. You won't be meeting your co-workers today, perhaps tomorrow. Actually, you'll see them today but won't get to talk much. Do you understand?" Rivaille turns to look at me again and stops his pacing.

"Yeah, I understand," I fidget with the sleeve of my sweater and nod quickly once again. I sniffed, my nose still as bad as before.

"Good," he then moves to take a seat and suddenly picks up a stack of papers. I stand there confused for a second, not sure on what I'm supposed to do. I look at the digital clock on his desk; it's only 5:30. "Take a seat," he says, putting on a pair of black, reading glasses.

I do so because it just felt natural and I had somehow gotten used to gruff commands in my short time here. Rivaille then hands me half of the stack. "Read this, okay? Let me know if I missed any bad grammar. I interviewed a woman and that was the result of it. Consider yourself lucky that you're reading this before it's published, it's a much anticipated interview."

I'm not sure as to who he interviewed and I didn't care that much. Apparently it was some popular actress that had enamored everyone with her small performances in Maria. From what I was reading, apparently some big shot from Sina had discovered her and she was absolutely popular and everyone loved her. As I read, I realized that I hadn't noticed any bad grammar. I was really just pleasure reading because Rivaille's work was so thorough that it was impressive. Once I finish, I hand the papers back to him. "I didn't see anything," I said at last.

"Then you're not observant. In the eighth question the sentence cuts off too quickly and the same goes for the tenth. Honestly, Jaeger, what kind of work did you do in your other papers? They said you were good, not horribly inapt at reading English." Rivaille looks at me with what I believe to be the embodiment of scorn.

"I'm sorry; I didn't think it was cut off!" I say defensively, glaring at him in return. "I also think you should revise it a bit because you made her sound like a happy and easily excitable Pomeranian. I don't care if she did sound like one you need to make her look good if she really is a beloved actress. Also, you sound really mean when asking the questions and replying!" I snapped, not quite sure why. It had just sort of slipped. It had slipped and I couldn't take it back. I blushed once I realized what I had just said to him. "I-I mean... you don't have to change those things—"

To my dismay, he's chuckling. It's a soft chuckle, but I knew it was a laugh of sorts. He then leans in, really close. I can feel my face flush because I'm not used to having people that close to me. I can see him more clearly and it makes my stomach churn and I don't like it at all. "Where did that come from?" he's smirking slightly and it makes me all the more uncomfortable. He then pats my head and leans away from me. I can feel my pulse quicken and I feel even sicker than before.

"I don't know," I huff, crossing my arms and looking away. "As your personal assistant I need to set it to you straight and I didn't like the way you made her sound. Besides, from your attitude it's pretty damn obvious that people don't contradict you!" I still wasn't sure where all this was coming from yet I was saying it anyways.

Rivaille chuckles a bit more before reading over the papers. "Set me straight, huh? I've never had a personal assistant like that. You're gusty but don't get too confident," he sighs a bit before looking at me. "You okay, Jaeger? Your face is all red. Don't tell me it's a fever," his eyes narrow as if a fever is something unholy and to be banished.

I roll my eyes and clear my throat. "It's just a cold. My face isn't red, anyways."

"Whatever you say," he replies as he puts the papers he was reading down. "I'll edit it later. Make note of that, don't let me put off till next week. I have a habit of doing that. Remember my habits."

"Sure, sure," I sigh and think about how I'm going to have to remember all of his quirks in order to work his schedule and his plans. I then get up and go to leave his office. "I'm gonna go jot that down or something maybe go to the bathroom while I'm at it. If I can find it, anyways," I place my hand on the doorknob and push it open to leave. The next thing I know a pale hand is on the wall and the other is on my own. Rivaille was close again. I blink a bit because I wasn't expecting it. Hell, I hadn't even heard him get out of his damn chair to stop me. I swallow thickly and keep my gaze on the door. Gaze on the door. Gaze on the door. I wasn't used to people being so close except for Mikasa so this was all as foreign to me as it got.

"It's to your left, past the elevator. You can't miss it," his head is close to my ear and his voice is just barely above a murmur. I begin to feel sick again and I grip the doorknob, tensing up slowly.

"Thanks," I say in reply, waiting for him to take his hand off of mine. It lingers there for a few more moments before drawing back. His hand was as cold as I remembered it, but there seemed to be some sort of heat radiating from the palm. I stand there for a second, dazed and confused by these thoughts. Soon realizing that I was clutching the doorknob like I fool, I quickly exit and close the door behind me. My breathing was heavy, heavier than I remembered. It was probably just because my nose was congested and most of my breathing had to be done from my mouth. Yes, that was it. But even as I thought that I was still standing outside of his door. I hadn't moved an inch.

**A/N: **As I said, this chapter is obviously a bit more focused on their relationship.


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